


Heat

by crocodile_eat_u



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Frottage, M/M, Plants, Sex Pollen, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocodile_eat_u/pseuds/crocodile_eat_u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John/Lestrade Sex Pollen</p><p>The two boys and a mysterious plant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://thimpressionist.livejournal.com/profile)[**thimpressionist**](http://thimpressionist.livejournal.com/)  who was helping me test the limits on how kinky my writing can get. Also she really really really wanted J/L sex pollen fic. ^^ Anyone else have any ideas what kink I should try out next? ;D
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Do not own.
> 
> Spoliers: Nothing.
> 
> Warning: Nothing much per se. Bit of frottage, bit of bondage, bit of swearing.

**Heat**

“What is it?”

 

John glanced at Lestrade, hoping for some sort of answer to his question. If it even was a question. It sounded more like an inevitable statement, something that was bound to be voiced by either one of them. Because in reality, an average person couldn’t stroll into another’s office without commenting on whatever the hell it was sitting on the man’s desk.

 

Lestrade merely grunted and scratched the back of his head.

 

“Fucked if I know.” He squinted. “It arrived this morning. Been sitting here all day. What do you think?”

 

If John knew the answer, he wouldn’t have asked in the first place. But he was tired and feeling weary and wasn’t up to a good natured argument today. If such a thing existed.

 

“Some sort of...plant?” He ventured a guess, grimacing at how unsure he sounded. It certainly looked like a plant, perhaps even a type of flower. But he was no botanist. It stood around thirty inches in its black plastic pot, leaves spanning to the size of his palm. They were a vibrant green, spotted and dusted with freckles of deep fuchsia, a vibrating contrast that tickled his eyes. They were leathery to touch, small indented ridges almost like prints, like eerie markings on skin.

 

“Looks like a plant,” he wondered, reaching out and barely skimming the surface of a leaf before recoiling, slightly dismayed by the unbearable likeness to skin, flesh even. The leaf shook, swaying from his touch and he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in circles, feeling a dry power cover them, rolling into the indents of his prints.

 

He frowned. Pollen possibly. Maybe the plant rubbed off on a flower, a lily even.

 

John hated lilies.

 

As pretty as they were to look at, he always ventured a step to close, his mistake palpable as he withdraws, a brownish yellowed stain now on his shirt, courtesy of the brown buds between the petals.

 

John dismissed the thought and rubbed the powder onto his trouser leg, brushing his hands clean. The sky was darkening, a deep wash of grey, heavy and decadent as it hung over London. It cast shadows between the blinds in the detective’s office, stretching out across the floor like claws begging to grab purchase. John watched them flicker, listening to the stray sounds of cars passing by, whooshing past like quick raspy whispers. He only realised then that the two had been sitting in silence for a minute.

 

“So how’ve you been?” It was a poor way to break the silence, the heavy weariness that hung in the air, threatening to choke them both. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at Lestrade, guiltily aware that he was only half interested.

 

Lestrade glanced up at him, startled momentarily. “Hmm?” He was frowning. Did he suspect John’s half hearted attempt at conversation? Probably.

 

John shot him a bemused smile and repeated the question. “How’ve you been?” The plant sat forgotten on the desk, shivering gently under the force of Lestrade’s ragged sigh.

 

“Usual,” Lestrade murmured, rubbing his face with a weary hand. “Work.” His eyes were focused on the pile of papers littering his worn desk, scattered haphazardly, scribbles scrawled across the tatty papers in quick succession. He brushed them together, the only noise present being that of the flickering over head light and the rustling of paper as he tucked them away into a pile on the desk.

 

“It’s been a pain in the arse.”

 

John nodded in sympathy, somehow genuine. “I can imagine.”

 

And he really could. It wasn’t easy as of late, and while John, not a formal member of the police or of Lestrade’s immediate company, still had some idea of the hardships said detective was suffering at the moment. Sherlock was particularly volatile and the case, while thankfully open and shut, was disgustingly brutal.

 

John knew. He saw the boys.

 

Which was why it was perfectly understandable to see the wholesomely distressed look upon Lestrade’s face, the weary haggardness around his eyes. But he seemed to persevere and said nothing. He was fine.

 

John left it at that.

 

Lestrade let out another breath, scrubbing a hand across his face before smiling tiredly at John.

 

“What about you? Sherlock driving you around the bend?”

 

“As always,” John snorted. “He asked me to come pick something up but for the life of me I can’t seem to remember what.”

 

He rubbed his chin in thought but as he pulled his hand away his lips began to tingle, a soft itching sensation. He licked them quickly, ignoring the feeling. “And why are you still here? Everyone’s gone.”

 

Everyone had indeed gone, the normal bustle of the offices now quiet, a dimmed sort of peace that was either wholly wonderful, or decidedly uncomfortable. John didn’t know. He couldn’t decide.

 

Lestrade tugged at his collar, his brows furrowed. “Working. Was working. And thinking what to do with this.” He gestured a hand toward the plant on his desk. “I don’t even know where it came from.” He swiped a hand across his forehead, John watching as it wiped away a thin film of sweat that had formed there. It looked salty.

 

John could feel it on his tongue.

 

He licked his lips again, the tingling sensation irritating now and rubbed them with his hand.

 

“Are you ok?” Lestrade’s eyes were dark, uncomfortably focused on him. They were darker than the usual chocolate glow they held but John wasn’t sure if it was due to the darkening sky and the poorly lit light or something else entirely. He felt bare, felt the gaze scratching away at the skin on his neck, his cheeks.

 

And they began to blaze red.

 

The detective wiped another hand across his forehead, sweating slightly now, and gestured toward John. “I think there’s something on your face.”

 

 _Face?_

 

“My face?” A perfectly good question ruined by the throaty choke in John’s voice. Something was on his face?

 

“Yeah...it’s...shiny.” Lestrade was frowning, eyes narrowed at John. He leant forward ever so slightly and John could finally glimpse the soft flush upon his cheeks, an interesting contrast against the purple bags under the man’s eyes.

 

“Fuck off,” John joked, chuckling nervously. He resisted the urge to swipe across his face, chewing softly on his bottom lip to try and relive the tingling.

 

“No I’m serious. Powder?”

 

“Powder?”

 

Lestrade shrugged. “I don’t know. Powder, dust, it’s something.” He glanced toward the plant, the leaves swaying as he jostled the desk. “Might be from the plant.”

 

John wiped his face. “Is it gone?” His skin tingled, thrumming gently as he pulled his hand away, itching slightly. The room was suddenly muggy, warm and heady, the air thickening with each wet breath they exhaled. John could almost feel the moisture building on his skin, lagging across the back of his neck, his brow and hands. He licked his upper lip and could taste salt, sharp and tangy on his tongue, warming to his throat.

 

 _It’s so hot in here._

 

“Is it gone?” he murmured, unable to school his voice into something moderately resembling calm. His head was clouded, his thoughts swarming masses of thick tendrils, reaching out, seizing his consciousness, suffocating it. His temples began to throb, feeling lightheaded as a dizzying spell of nausea grabbed his senses.

 

Before him Lestrade was unfocused, his pupils dilated, tugging and undoing the top three of his shirt buttons, too many for proper decorum but John didn’t really mind. The darkened space of skin, of musky flesh was revealed, a stripe pulled taunt over sharp glistening collarbones. He could see the crystals of salt, glittering like diamonds and for the first time in John’s life, he wanted to reach over and lick them away.

 

Lestrade shook his head, his cheeks still flushed heady. “Still there...” he croaked. “Want me to...” A hand was waved in gesture toward John’s face, who could do nothing but nod dumbly, his sense overcome but the overwhelming need to touch something. He stretched his knees out, feeling twin pops of relief and watched as Lestrade leant over the desk, grabbing the cuff of his shirt sleeve and wiping across John’s cheeks with it.

 

The man spluttered in protest and the two chuckled together, Lestrade half sitting on the desk, leaning over to grab John’s face with one hand and swipe futilely at the dust with his thumbs. He frowned.

 

“It’s not bloody coming off! What on earth did you walk into John?”

 

 _John._

 __

_Jo-h-n......_

 __

The syllables were dragged from Lestrade’s lips, rolling from his tongue as they fell wetly into the air, thick and pungent and _fucking amazing please say that again oh god say it again-_

 __

“That plant,” John hummed instead. “That plant did it I think... how long’s it been here?” The words jumbled together in a litany of mess and squashed syllables. Lestrade shrugged sluggishly, shaking his head as his thumbs continued to rub circles across John’s cheeks, which were heated under his touch.

 

“Not sure... Only got in an hour ago. Sally said it’s been ‘ere all day.” He glared at John. “It won’t come off... here maybe if I...”

 

He leant forward and blew across the man’s face, hoping to dust away the powder. John giggled, despite his horror at such a notion, and grabbed for the man’s wrist, clamping his fingers around it like a vice, feeling the hot pulse thudding quickly. He could feel the bones, the radius and ulna chafe against his hands, hard and steady and god how he wanted to run his tongue down them.

 

Lestrade continued to blow on his face but he stopped, his brow furrowed and leaned in, his forehead pressed against John’s temple. “Maybe if...”

 

He licked his cheek.

 

John’s eyes widened and he shuddered under the feel of the hot muscle trailing a wet stripe across his face. Lestrade pulled away, but seemed boneless, drunk almost and swayed, his arm darting out to grab John’s shoulder but failing to do so, knocking the plant off the desk in a sweeping movement, the crash ringing loudly amongst their heavy breathing.

 

From the crash, the moment of collision, came a puff of powder, the dust billowing faintly in the room, scattering across them. John spluttered as he inhaled and glared at Lestrade whose eyes were wide, his pulse throbbing hard in his neck. The tingling sensation John felt in his lips had suddenly elevated itching violently across his skin, vibrating and thrumming. He could feel it dancing beneath his collar, his hands, his chest. His nipples had hardened, rubbing against his shirt with tantalising pleasure and his groin throbbed pleasantly under the desk.

 

John’s cheeks flushed and his mind dimmed, a supernova, an explosion into nothing.

 

Lestrade seemed not to fare any better, staring at their conjoined appendages, John’s hand to his wrist, the touch blazing like fire, like the tingly, tickling sensation of an approaching orgasm. But it was one touch, on his hand- it was...it was-

 

Lestrade let out a low moan, squirming slightly and pulled away to duck his head, his chest heaving. “God John...I...something’s... it’s...”

 

“What?” John whispered, leaning up closer to Lestrade, unable to think. He wanted to get closer, even closer and nudged his forehead against the man’s jaw line, the touch tangible, so dammed erotic he could not help but buck, his hips jerking on their own accord. Lestrade groaned softly, the sound deep, a throaty rumble that was wholly unlike the lilt of a woman’s but so much more arousing at this point. John wanted to climb on the desk, to tackle Lestrade down and wrap the man’s legs around his hips and rut like a dog, like a bitch in heat.

 

“Fucking...Oh fuck...”Lestrade groaned, throwing his head back, his cheeks a crimson red, pupils dilated. He looked rabid, completely unrestrained and John found himself bumping his hips against the desk again to relive the pressure of his throbbing cock.

 

“T-that plant...something...John you...” Lestrade was panting now, and John looked up, their gazes meeting, flushed and heady. Lestrade’s lips were apart, pink and the wet darkness between them beckoning, tantalising and John could do nothing but reach up and meet them.

 

The kiss was ferocious and messy and wet, their tongues meeting sloppily, the teeth clashing and nipping at skin. But it was glorious and animalistic and unrefined and it didn’t matter fuck all. Lestrade moaned again, gasping in John’s mouth and pressing closer, tugging frantically at his own shirt buttons, grabbing John’s hand to press against the soft skin of his neck, the beginnings of his collar bones. The touch tingled in John’s palm and he ran his fingers across the taunt skin, flicking and pinching lightly at the bones. He tugged the shirt down, ripping the buttons off until it hung loose on Lestrade’s body.

 

He broke away from the kiss, a trailing sting of saliva still attaching their lips and gasped. “God Greg... fucking...I need to touch you, let me touch you.”

 

“Yes, yes anything. Come here, grab me.” And he pulled John up onto the desk, leaning down to pull the man on top of him, bumping his hips up until they clashed with John’s, their erections grinding against each other. John moaned loudly and tugged his jumper off, casting it aside only to lean down and seize the remains if Lestrade’s shirt upon his arms and twist, tugging them up and tying them together until Lestrade’s arms were bound above his head, unable to break free. The man squirmed, stuck and bucked his hips up again.

 

“John what are you-”

 

“Shh...”

Something had happened, had broke within John. The weary agitation he had previously felt was replaced with energy, a buzzing adrenaline he had not felt in a long time. This was different to chasing a suspect with Sherlock, to shooting a corrupt cabbie in the chest. This was the heady sort of exhilaration one only felt a few times in their life, the anticipation of ravishing someone, turning them inside out and licking every inch of their skin. Basking in their glow, in their arms, burying his cock inside them, their cunt, their arse, their mouth. Pure and utter sex. Salty and dirty and musky and sweaty and glorious. Fucking wonderful.

 

John had only felt this need a few times in his life. This passion and need to know someone completely. It was nothing like this with Sarah. With Sarah, he had hoped for a nice comfortable shag, a relationship perhaps, company.

 

Here with Lestrade, John wants to lick every inch of his skin, wants to turn him over and rut against his arse like nothing else in the world mattered. His skin craved for it, burned for another touch and he could not bear pulling away from the man, gluing their lips together with another sloppy kiss, their faces and arms dusted lightly with the yellowish gold dust that had floated around the room from the plant, now wilting softly on the floor.

 

Lestrade fought hard, biting on John’s lips, licking at his jaw line and mouthing against the man’s neck, sucking hard as John attempted to wrestle his own shirt off.

 

“God you’re so hot John,” Lestrade groaned. “Fuck I’ve thought about this before- _unnnngh_ -” He was cut off when John leant down to latch onto a nipple, swirling his tongue around the hard bud and painting it lusciously. He sucked generously before pulling away, Lestrade’s words floating into mind.

 

“T-thought about wha?” He could barely speak. Lestrade arched against the desk, his body trembling faintly under John’s palms, his cock nudging for attention against the man’s hip.

 

“Y-you. Not just today,” he was rambling, eyes squeezed shut, the words lolling from his tongue carelessly. “All time, touching you, fucking you. Asking you out for a drink...”

 

Something had happened, their tongues loosening, their minds sluggish. John could do nothing but listen intently laying his head against the man’s chest to feel his heart beat violently against the cage it was trapped in.

 

 _Did Greg even realise what he was saying?_

 

How could he still think? It was futile, useless. Whatever this was, this rampant desire as cliché as it sounded, this inexplicable need to fuck, take, suck and bang had turned his mind into a foggy, sluggish mess. He could barely think over the static in his mind, the gold dust shimmering beautifully before his eyes, the unbelievably hot skin before him. It was burning, ablaze and scorching against his finger tips. John raked a hand through the hair on Lestrade’s chest, the trail mapping the path below his waistband. His arms were still bound tightly above him and Lestrade could do no more than squirm and pant, his chest heaving and his cheeks flushed bright.

 

John licked around the second nipple before pinching it, the feel of skin against skin magnificent. The tingling in his lower stomach, the anticipation of another’s touch, stroke and kiss burned hard and he was driven mad by the feeling.

 

“Oh fuck!” Lestrade gasped as John leant forward to nip at his nipple, latching on to it and sucking softly. He then pulled away and rubbed his head against the other’s chest, gasping for air, his hips grinding against Lestrade’s firm thigh, which was lodged firmly between his legs. John rutted against it, pushing his throbbing cock against it harder and harder.

 

Above him Lestrade squirmed, his own cock nudging against John’s stomach and groaned aloud. “John...J-John,” he murmured between gritted teeth. “Fuck, Fuck!”

 

The room was stifling, burning and sticky and John could feel the salty heat of perspiration building across his skin, the backs of his knees damp against his trousers. The desk was slippery, their palms leaving damp trails of sweat across the surface and John, unable to gain enough purchase to press against Lestrade, slid backward until he was standing again, seizing the man’s hips and tugging him forward with little finesse. Lestrade slid toward him, his feet grabbing purchase of the floor, pressed harshly against the sharp edge of the desk but neither noticed, John rubbing his face in the crook of Lestrade’s neck, biting and licking, panting like a dog in heat. 

 

Lestrade jutted his chin against the other’s forehead, nudging it back and nuzzling along John’s nose to meet his lips, catching the bottom one between his teeth and tugging until John moved forward for their lips to meet.

 

The kiss was wet, interrupted by their moist pants as they ground their crotches together, pushing harder against one another. John seized Lestrade’s hips, halting their stutter and ground his crotch against it hard, Lestrade’s whimper muffled as he worried his swollen lip between white teeth.

 

“O-oh fuck, fuck!” he gasped into air, eyes squeezed shut, heaving for breath. “G-god...”

 

It wasn’t enough. Not enough contact, heat and sensation and it was driving John mad. His skin tingled violently, the vibrations glorifying, tortuous. He wanted to strip Lestrade bare, throw him against the floor and rub his body all over him to try and relive some of the sensation. It was so good, like tinkering on the brink of orgasm but never fully there, and it hurt like nothing before.

 

The air sparked, electrified and charged with their hormones, with the dust from the plant, particles drifting in the air, sticking to their sweat drenched skin as they rutted for completion. Lestrade’s head had fallen forward against John’s as the man palmed the front of his trousers, fumbling for the button and zipper and tearing them open. He reached inside with a trembling hand and wrapped it around Lestrade’s leaking cock, squeezing hard.

 

The man’s mouth fell open with an appraised cry. “John!” He bucked upward into the curled fist.

 

John stroked him with one hand, the other tugging down Lestrade’s trousers and boxers which were now hanging loosely around his wavering thighs. His cock stood tall, swollen and purple as John stroked him quickly, his own hips rutting in pace against the man’s thigh. He rubbed a calloused thumb across the head, along the foreskin and through the slit, drawing unabashed moans from the other’s mouth.

 

“F-fuck...oh shit! M-more!”

 

He bucked, thrusting into John’s fist which tightened around him and with one last swipe across the head of his cock, Lestrade came with a guttural scream, his eyes squeezed shut, come spurting and splashing across John’s hands and stomach.

 

“J-John...” he whimpered, head falling against the other’s shoulder, his cheeks ablaze and flushed. John captured his lips again, coaxing another heated kiss as he undid his own trousers, cock springing free and slapping wetly on his abdomen. It was swollen and hard and John buried his head in Lestrade’s greying tufts of hair, breathing harshly as he rubbed and rutted against the wet splashes of Lestrade’s come against his spent cock and thighs. The man hissed, over sensitive but didn’t move, letting John rub and rut and fuck his way to completion, coming across Lestrade almost silently. His teeth were gritted, the deep, throaty groan muffled and barley audible as he came, white lights bursting behind his lids, his body alight with sensation. The tingling built and exploded, washing over his body with tiny electrical currents that had John arching his back as he spilled himself hard all over the man in front of him.

 

When the feelings subsided and the heat dispersed slowly, John felt his body slump against Lestrade, the two barely able to hold themselves up against each other. The room was quiet save their hushed pants and heaves for breath, the crashing of their heartbeats only audible to themselves. John could barely resister anything other than the ringing in his ears but finally grasped enough sense to pull away, the fog once clouding his mind fading away slightly, leaving a cold trail of comprehension in its wake.

 

The room was suddenly chilly as he pulled away enough to blink tiredly at Lestrade, who was frowning in confusion, staring at his tied hands. They blinked at each other, the cool air drying the sweat on their skin, making it itch and stick. It was odd, standing there, post coital and half naked in front of each other. A wave of embarrassment grasped John and refused to let go as he suddenly realised what had happened, despite his evident confusion.

 

“I...” he started, unable to think of anything sensible to say while he was still covered in come and sweat. Lestrade didn’t seem to register the word, busy attempting to tug at his hands. John reached forward and untied them, the knots loose and sloppy anyway, watching as Lestrade rubbed his sore wrists and attempted to fit his torn shirt back on, which hung loosely across his shoulders and arms, refusing to button up.

 

They stared at each other, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, unable to think of anything to say. The hazy fog of confusion had not quite disappeared, blurring with the sudden lust from moments ago and the cocktail of hormones that floated in the air. Their come was drying rapidly on their skin and Lestrade, with want for a better item, began to quickly wipe it away with the torn sleeve of his shirt. Thankfully the majority of it fell toward Lestrade and John was able to button up his clothes with little hassle, his cheeks aflame with mortification as he tried not to catch Lestrade’s eye.

 

Soon they were dressed, or more or less considering Lestrade was missing a few buttons and finally looked at each other. John sifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting away from the softness of Lestrade’s as he gazed at him, trying to read whatever emotions John was determined to hide.

 

“We,” John started, his throat dry and parched. “Won’t talk about this again.”

 

There was a moment, a soft, quiet moment in which John watched a slideshow of emotions flit quickly through Lestrade’s eyes before his expression shuttered completely. He stiffened, mouth tight and hands flexing as he nodded tersely at John’s comment.

  
“Ok.” It sounded horrible, a declaration of faux approval that John knew was wrong. Lestrade swallowed hard and turned his head away, mouth pulling into a tight smile. “I suppose it’d be weird to ask you out for a drink then huh?”

 

 _All time, touching you, fucking you. Asking you out for a drink..._

 

Oh god what had they done?

 

They had just fucked. Had sex right here in Lestrade’s office without even so much as a bloody reason. How was he supposed to deal with this let alone the possibility of a date with the man? He could barely think, barely breathe in this sticky, burning room, the smell of grass, pollen, sweat and semen in the air.

 

John stared at Lestrade, his gaze closed, shuttered. His neck began to itch under the collar as a wave of nausea took hold, a thread of panic forming within him. The man seemed resigned, as if it were a joke of some sort but John could tell by the way he held himself that he was waiting for an answer, for a rejection. His stance was tight, his shoulders almost but not quite curled in on themselves as he warily gazed between the soiled desk and John, picking nervously at a splinter on the wood.

 

He couldn’t...how could he? He wasn’t even....

 __

_I can’t do this._

 __

“I have to go,” John remarked quietly, turning away and leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.

 

Lestrade made not a sound, did not even allow himself the luxury to sigh as his insides crumbled horribly and his chest twisted. He didn’t expect anything different after all.

 

After a moment of silence, he turned to grab his coat, which was draped behind his chair, and slipped it on, buttoning it to hide the sorry state of his shirt, and gathered his papers, which were strewn haphazardly across the room. He tucked them away, making a note to sort them out after he got home and had a stiff drink, his thigh muscles twitching as he bent to retrieve some of those that had fallen to the floor. His groin thrummed pleasantly, the ever present satisfaction that followed whenever it was well used in that department, but for once he ignored it, feeling slightly numb for the moment as his gaze caught that of the wilting plant on the floor.

 

He gazed at it for a moment, his knees screaming in protest before gathering it and whatever remained of its soil in its plastic pot, patting it down softly, almost soothingly.

 

“Looks like it’s just you and me now,” he sighed, petting a leaf gently.

 

As if in response, the plant swayed a little, almost shivering under his touch. He gathered it and tucked his files under his arm, heading out of his office and locking up.

 

It took a moment to reach his car, the biting chill of the London night a welcoming sensation against his cheeks. It was glorious and soothing like a caress, softening the heated burn of arousal and now embarrassment on his face. The wind licked at his collar and neck, drifting over a particular sore mark John had created as he fumbled for his keys, placing the plant and files on top of his car. He didn’t know why he was taking it home, it just seemed the right thing to do, despite the fact that it had possibly just hypnotised both him and John into having sex. But the experience itself was memorable and Lestrade felt, in some twisted, morally abject sense that he owed it something. At least some water.

 

However as he searched for his keys, something had vibrated in his pocket, thrumming against his fingers. Lestrade pulled it out, glaring at the LCD screen of his phone as it signified a new message.

 

 _1 Message._

 __

“Oh bloody hell,” he murmured, opening the text with one hand while he searched for his keys with the other.

 

 _How about tomorrow? JW_

 

Lestrade blinked at his phone, unable to process the information into mind. He froze, simply staring at the message, at the two initials at the end which made his stomach flip in excitement, his mind racing ahead with possibilities of futures, of scenarios, seeing John again, touching his hair, kissing those small lips.

 

 _John Watson._

 

A slow grin broke onto his face as he stared at it, finally realising its implications, his pulse thrumming pleasantly under his skin. He turned up to stare at the plant with a cocked eyebrow, the vegetation swaying under the wind. _Maybe a little Miracle Gro wouldn’t go misplaced._

 

All which was left was to reply, which Lestrade found he could not do fast enough, typing the answer swiftly as his fingers grazed his car keys in his pocket, the cool metal kissing his fingertips.

 

 _Tomorrow sounds great._

 

And it really did.

 

Fin

A/N- Hope you enjoyed. ^^ And yes, any ideas for a new kinky kink I should attempt to write, do tell me!


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